Just a Simple Haunting
by Zanne Chaos
Summary: (D/T) Just a simple haunting is what Dante and Trish think they've been hired to deal with...but they soon learn otherwise.
1. Chapter One

**Just a Simple Haunting**

  
**DISCLAIMER:** All "Devil May Cry" elements belong to Capcom. Work of fanfiction just because we enjoy the game and like the characters. No money made. Some quotes belong to "Ghostbusters", copyrighted by Columbia Pictures. Any other references to any other elements copyrighted by anyone else belong to those copyright holders. Clear enough?  
  
**Author's Notes:** Rating given for sexual banter, language content, and violence. Any events or storyline that might appear in "DMC2" are null and void, as very few, or even none of us even know at this point what it's all about. This is set roughly twenty years after the events in "DMC"; Dante and Trish's physical aging is considered by the authors to be nearly insignificant, due to their demonic blood. Feedback welcome. Flames will be given the MSTreatment.  
~ Zanne  
  


**Just a Simple Haunting**  
_byJ.Z. Chaos _  
(J. Chaos and Zanne Chaos; a writing team)  
  
  
**Chapter One**

  
  
Ah, Michigan. Land of a thousand lakes...or was that Minnesota? Dante never could keep those two straight. Both bordered Canada, both began with M, and both got colder in the winter than he could really appreciate. Either way, he knew he was in Michigan. Lake Huron glittered on his right in the sunset, and he reached down onto his motorcycle, tapping a button which activated a HUD, looking at a map.  
  
It was late August, still a few months away before the seasons started in on the color-changing business, and the demon activity kicked up for various things, like the solstice. He usually looked forward to Halloween. It was almost always, pun fully intended, as quiet as a tomb that day. Great day for catching up on paperwork, unless it was a weekend. Weekends were for fun.  
  
Well, _most_ weekends, anyway.  
  
"We almost there?" a female voice crackled in the headset of his helmet.  
  
"Yeah, babe, I think the next turn off up here's the one that goes to the lodge." Dante smirked a bit, glancing over his shoulder to the other bike that kept pace with his, just a little behind. "Why? You getting tired of having that much power between your legs?"  
  
Silence for a moment, then Trish turned her head. He couldn't see her eyes through the black visor, and wondered what would come next. "Well, yeah, after all, it's more than I get with you."  
  
"Ow! That was _cold_, woman!" he retorted, and she laughed delightedly. "I'm gonna get you back for that."  
  
"Love ya too." He heard Trish lips smack together lightly in an imitation of a kiss.  
  
"Yeah, well, after we finish up here, you can show me how much." He glanced over his shoulder again to grin at her, even though he knew she couldn't see him through the visor on his own helmet. No matter. He knew his wife of seventeen years well enough to know there was a similar expression on her own face. "You done looking over the files?"  
  
"Yeah." Trish's voice sounded confused, though.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It was hard to read the notes through the HUD," Trish replied, "but from what I got, the lodge is over a hundred years old, closed down in '85, and two weeks ago, it became a spiritual hothouse?"  
  
"Yep. Up until then, it was as quiet as a grave." Trish groaned at the pun, and Dante chuckled. "Seriously, though, something's going nuts there. Our employee's already brought in a few exorcists, and said they didn't make a dent."  
  
"Not the most glamorous of jobs."  
  
"Nah, but the pay's more than worth it. I figure it'll be just a quickie." He gestured to a road up ahead, glancing to Trish to make sure she saw, and then turned on his signal light, pulling off the highway onto the quiet country road leading to the lodge.  
  
"All right. So we've got a brand spanking new spookhouse to deal with. Does this make you Ray, and me Venkman?"  
  
"When we get the weaponry for that, _then_ we can get into this discussion," he replied, grinning at her.  
  
"Unlicenced nuclear accelerator packs, mmm... are you trying to seduce me?" Trish said.  
  
"I could mention linoleum to seduce you, babe," Dante said. She laughed quietly, and followed him onto the driveway leading up to the lodge, which was a massive log building, lights pouring from every window into the dusk. He brought the bike to a stop, shutting it off and dismounting. "You suppose they got their design tips outta the Necronomicon?" he asked, looking at the lovely paintjob of flowing blood.   
  
Trish pulled up beside him, killing her engine before pulling off her helmet, shaking her long, blonde hair free. "Either that, or they've seen that _Shining_ miniseries way too many times."  
  
Dante removed his helmet, running a gloved hand through his sweat-matted hair. "We'll know who's right if the walls start vomiting blood." He hung it on the handlebars as Trish stood, swinging her leg over her own bike. "I hope they left the beds intact, or at least a few tables and chairs."  
  
Trish laughed as she hung her helmet in the same fashion, and he shot her a leer when their eyes met, which she returned in kind as she unzipped the black leather jacket she wore. His eyes roamed appreciatively down her body, over the little white baby doll tee she wore, down to the ample show of tanned, toned belly above the black vinyl microshorts. Dante watched her walk up to the lodge as he drew Alastor from its sheath on his back, admiring the way the vinyl hugged her rear, and the way her hips wiggled a bit as she stepped over the grass.  
  
Twenty years since she chucked a motorcycle at his head. At the time, there were moments he was sorely tempted to wring that luscious neck. Dante was glad he listened to whatever little voice inside said not to.  
  
Yeah, so maybe she bore a striking resemblance to somebody else. Point being, she _wasn't _that certain somebody else, and he damn well knew it. Besides, he hadn't even seen his mother in forty years now.  
  
Dante glanced to Alastor, noting that the blade was barely crackling. So, no demonic influences, at least not on the property. "Might be human," Dante said, catching up with his wife. "At least we might have a bit of a fight."  
  
"Heh. If it's human, I flash, you shoot him while he's distracted?"  
  
Dante put Alastor back across his back, glancing at his wife's chest, where "I (heart) NY" was stretched tight across her otherwise unrestrained breasts, and smirked. "Let's rock, babe," he said, twirling Ebony and Ivory on his fingers as they mounted the stairs to the porch. "You want to do the honors?"  
  
Trish studied the closed door, considering. "Kick it in, or open it like a civilized person?"  
  
"Collateral damage's allowed."  
  
"Ah, what the hell. I'm a demon, not a civilized person." She shot him a grin, then slammed the base of her black leather knee-high boots into the door just above the handle, sending it slamming open.  
  
Immediately, Dante moved into the doorway, holding his guns at the ready as he checked the foyer. "Entry's clear. Keep some holy water ready." He walked deeper into the house, hearing his own faint footsteps, echoed in perfect time behind him by Trish. When he saw the staircase leading to the second floor, and a few other doorways going elsewhere, he stopped. "What do you think, babe? Second floor or cellar?"  
  
"Should we split up?" she asked.  
  
"What, and deprive me of a great view of your butt on any stairs?" he replied, glancing over his shoulder to smirk at her. "Let's not." Well, all right, so that _was_ part of the reason, but not the main one. Whenever possible, he never let Trish walk a job by herself. He knew damn good and well she could hold her own just fine. He just didn't want to be elsewhere if things ever went from bad to worse, and unable to defend her.  
  
Trish grinned, then frowned, considering. "I call second floor. Cellars are just so cliché." Even as she said that, a ghost darted through a far doorway, shrieking as it charged them. "Or maybe we should start with this one."  
  
Dante calmly aimed Ebony and Ivory at the ghost, watching as it bore down upon Trish. At the last second, she flicked her wrist, casting the watery contents of a small plastic bottle at the form and stepped aside with superhuman speed. The ghost came to a halt, screeching horribly as the holy water hit it, and started smoking.  
  
Tsk. "You could'a stopped, your fault now," Dante chided, firing one shot from each gun into the ghost, watching it dissipate completely on the second. He holstered Ivory to rake a hand through his hair in annoyance. "An exorcist couldn't handle that?!" he demanded, waving his hand at where the ghost was.  
  
Trish shrugged. "He must'a hired frauds. More money for us."  
  
Dante nodded in agreement, moving toward the door from where the ghost had emerged. "Still, this seems like a waste of our time." He nudged the swinging door open with the toe of his boot, looking inside, and blinked. "Next room's fun..."  
  
"Why? Are there padded stocks and mink tail whips?" Trish quipped, trying to see over his shoulder.  
  
Dante stepped aside, moving his foot to open the door wider. "Check it out."  
  
"Unreal," Trish whispered, blinking, walking into a lounge that was completely devoid of color, like a scene from an old Black-and-White. The condition of the room was that of heavy decay, and the curtains and furniture were shredded. Dante looked back to Trish, and his eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"Babe?"  
  
She turned around, looking at him. Yup, even the red heart on her shirt was a dark, almost-black gray. He just stared at her and walked into the room slowly, and watched her eyes growing wide. He looked down at his formerly-red coat.  
  
Yup, they were both as monochromatic as the room.  
  
"This is new."  
  
"Did we step into a Hitchcock film?" Trish asked, alternating between looking around, and looking at her now-gray hands.  
  
"Hell if I know," Dante replied. "I'm beginning to think this may be worth our fee after all."  
  
"No, wait, I got it. _Wizard of Oz_ in reverse."  
  
"So, where's the tornado-level suckage?" Dante asked, grinning a bit as he looked through the room, trying to find a cause for the absence of color. The damnedest thing was, he could clearly see the colors in the foyer from the doorway they entered through.  
  
"That comes later, babe. Heads up, I'm gonna try something." There was a soft thud as the plastic cap came off another bottle of holy water, and Trish threw it at the wall.  
  
Dante turned to look at the wall, watching intently for any reaction. There was none. Ordinary water dripped down an ordinary wall...aside from the fact they apparently stepped into something that didn't know what Technicolor was.  
  
"That rules out the room itself."  
  
"I'd almost say it's paint, but that doesn't explain us," Dante said, and drew Alastor. "Maybe it's a stronger presence than we thought." Trish did the same with Sparda, and they both looked at their blades. Blue energy crackled faintly down Alastor's gleaming surface, with sedate black flames flickering over Sparda. All was calm and well.  
  
"Can't be _that_ strong," Trish said.  
  
"For a demon, anyway." Dante considered the situation, and nodded to himself. "Probably human work, then."  
  
Trish closed her eyes in a look of annoyance. "Great," she drawled. "For all we know, it could've been some idiot kids playing around with an Ouija board."  
  
"If that's the case, we find the board, smash it into toothpicks, collect our fee, then sue the shit outta whatever company makes those."  
  
"Works for me. Let's keep going. This room's creeping me out, and I'm not liking the level of decay I see in here."  
  
"You and me both," Dante said, taking point to the next door."  
  
"Although," Trish mused, "it's a good look for you. Kinda early Gregory Peck."  
  
He grinned at her, then looked at the doorknob. "I ain't touching the doorknob in here. That's just begging for trouble." He raised Ebony, blowing the knob off, and kicked it open.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to my co-writer and Beta Reader, J Chaos.  
~ Zanne  
  


**Just a Simple Haunting**  
  
**Chapter Two**

  
  
Trish fished her third bottle out of her jacket, holding one in each hand, and followed Dante, sighing silently in relief as she watched the color enter his coat. They were at the end of a long hallway, closed doors running down one side, windows down the other, and at the very end, she could identify a dining room.  
  
"Doors, a dining room, and those stairs back there," Dante said, but more to himself than to her.  
  
"Let's get through the first level before we change floors," Trish said.  
  
"Yeah." He smirked. "I just can't _wait _to see what else we have waiting for us."  
  
"Aw, such enthusiasm." Trish stepped past him. "Want me to take point?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll watch your back."  
  
She grinned at the leer in his voice, glancing to him and blew a kiss. "Such hardship, eh?"  
  
"You have no idea."  
  
Trish traded off one of the bottles for a dagger, enchanted to inflict at least some level of damage on otherworldly beings, and moved to the first door, her back to the windows. She was where she wanted to be now, in the lead position. If anything were to happen, it would happen to her first, and Dante would have the best shot at getting through it.  
  
She dared not ever tell him that, for fear that he would begin to keep her back, or out of missions entirely. Trish was determined not to let anything happen to him, not as long as she was around -- even at her own expense. She owed him her life, by her reckoning, not to mention the bone-deep fear of not knowing what she would do without him. There was literally nothing else for her. She virtually didn't exist. No past, no history, no family. She just _was_.  
  
Her life -- no, it hadn't been a life, existence, maybe -- had already been forfeit when she took the blast Mundus had intended for Dante. Why she still survived, she didn't know. But Trish always felt that she was there on borrowed time. Perhaps she still remained to protect him once more. At any rate, that was her every intention.  
  
She easily kicked in each doorway, taking a moment to give them each a visual once-over in turn for any sign of spiritual activity. Finding none, they made their way to the dining room doorway. Trish cautiously stepped through, immediately glancing up to ensure nothing was lurking just over her head and planning to drop down. She sidestepped, circling the table into the room, with Dante following a moment later.  
  
At the head of the long table, a corpse slumped over the remains of a half-eaten meal. Candles burned throughout the room, most of them at least halfway down.  
  
"Think it's a bit of a moot point to call the paramedics for that guy?" Trish asked as she made her way over to candelabra.  
  
"I'd say so. He looks long de--" Dante was cut off by the far opposite door swinging open, and a ghost clad in an old-fashioned housekeeper uniform drifted through. The ghost ignored them, starting in on the process of clearing the table, and Trish narrowed her eyes, noting that it appeared the ghost was actually manipulating physical objects. As it returned to the kitchen, Dante lowered his guns.  
  
Trish glanced at a candle, running her fingertips quickly through the flame. "Flames are real," she noted.  
  
"Food smells real too." Dante shot another glance at the corpse. "I'm not gonna try to taste it, though."  
  
Trish pocketed the water, and returned the dagger to its sheath up her sleeve, circling the table to get a closer look at the body. She was no pathologist, so pinning down any approximate day of death wasn't an option. But maybe there were other clues. At the moment, she wanted to figure out if that body was legitimate. There was a surprising lack of any odor which she would normally associate with a decaying body.  
  
"This one's been moved," Dante spoke up, and she glanced over to see him looking at the floor. "The chair. There's dust all over the place, except where the legs used to be."  
  
Trish narrowed her eyes, giving her head a small shake. Most ghosts couldn't manipulate solid objects, except for poltergeists. But that maid certainly didn't fit the conventional bill. She returned her attention to the decomposing body, prodding it on the shoulder with a fingertip. Aside from the fact there was a rather disgusting squishy feeling under the sport coat he wore, it was quite normal and real. "Babe, I think we got a real live dead body on our hands."  
  
Dante looked over, quiet for a moment, then moved to her other side. "Seems that way." He tilted his head, studying it. "Think he's got any ID on him?"  
  
Trish was already starting to pat the corpse down, searching the pockets and ignoring the general sense of disgust at the feel of decomposing muscles under the clothes. "Our employer say anything about this? Huh. No ID yet, but our Doe's armed" She fished a 9mm Luger out of a shoulder holster.  
  
"Fat lotta good it did him. He didn't say a word about any live ones," Dante replied, then amended, "or formerly live ones, as the case may be."  
  
Trish set the gun on the table, moving lower to check his pants pockets. She wasn't squeamish by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't the most pleasant job she'd ever taken upon herself either. After a few moments, she pulled out a keyring with a set of Chevy keys, and a few others of assorted standard fare, but no wallet.  
  
"No ID," Trish said, and studied the keys. "I'm not getting anything off of these."  
  
Dante took them, looking them over in a vain attempt of identifying any of them, while Trish studied the gun for any kind of marks. All she got found was the serial number, so she popped out the magazine, then emptied the round from the chamber. Once it was unloaded, she switched on the safety and tucked everything away in an inner pocket on her leather jacket. No sense in leaving a perfectly good and loaded weapon lying around ghosts that were moving corporeal objects.  
  
"You any good at guesstimating a time of death?" Trish asked.  
  
Dante hesitated, tilting his head to the side as he crouched a bit, squinting as he studied the corpse. "If I had to guess, he's been here a good few days. Don't have a clue past that."  
  
"Yeah." Trish bit her lip, thinking. "When did all this crap start?"  
  
The ghost came back into the room, causing her to jump. She cleared a platter of fresh vegetables away, taking it into the kitchen.  
  
"Our guy said two weeks ago," Dante said, moving out of the ghost's way but otherwise paying it no attention. "But it could be longer. He wasn't the caretaker."  
  
"Who's the caretaker?" Trish asked, and looked to the corpse. "And where is he?"  
  
"No clue, but there's probably a good chance it's this poor bastard." Dante looked to a window, hands on his hips. "I didn't see a truck or anything though, did you, babe?"  
  
"No, maybe it was in a garage?"  
  
"Hmm. Maybe." They both looked at one another, then their gaze turned to the kitchen door. Trish moved around him, taking point again.  
  
"Let's check it out."  
  
"Yeah." Dante didn't move immediately, head tilted slightly to the side as he studied the kitchen door. "I hear running water." He raised his guns, holding them at the ready.  
  
Trish raised an eyebrow and drew her dagger, then kicked the swinging door lightly with the toe of her boot, stepping forward quickly and shoving her heel against it to hold it fully open.  
  
So maybe checking out the kitchen wasn't such a bright idea. Her eyes started watering, and the oppressive stench that clung to the room almost like a physical object made it difficult not to retch. Gagging, she held her wrist in front of her nose in a vain attempt to try to diffuse it.  
  
"Ugh!" Dante stepped beside her, his hand covering his nose and mouth, and they looked over the kitchen.  
  
"Oh gods, it smelled like he died in _here_," Trish said, fighting back the gag reflex.  
  
"Babe, it smells something a helluvalot bigger than him died in here." Dante's voice was strained, and he coughed slightly.  
  
Trish eyed the brown debris which caked nearly every surface of the kitchen. "I don't even wanna know what that stuff is."  
  
The kitchen was in a state of complete decay and ruin, much more than what would be considered normal. Across the room was the only immaculate area, the sink, the source of the running water. The ghost maid was washing dishes. She removed the dish she was washing and set it in the strainer on the counter, and drifted back to the dining room past Trish and Dante, completely oblivious to them.  
  
They didn't move from the doorway, not all that eager to enter the room any farther than they already had. "At least we haven't met any projectile-vomiting toilets yet," Trish quipped.  
  
"I might prefer it." Dante waved one of his guns at the back door. "Think it's worth investigating?"  
  
"This room looks about--"  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Trish blinked at the soft, polite voice that spoke up behind her, and glanced over her shoulder at the ghost maid, who was carrying some of those very real plates. So she wasn't completely unaware of them. Maybe good for a few clues. "Who're you?"  
  
The maid didn't answer the question. "I can't get past you, please move."  
  
"I'll move, just tell me who you are?"  
  
"I don't know," she whispered sadly. "Please move."  
  
Trish hesitated, then stepped aside before considering another question. "Do you know who that guy at the table is?"  
  
No response. The ghost was back in total ignore mode.  
  
"Leave her," Dante said after a moment. "This is her job now."  
  
Trish nodded slightly, glancing around the kitchen one more time. "Nothing in here's worth investigating over this smell." She walked to the door, gagging as she passed through the center of the room, where it was the worst.  
  
"Someone's been eating here," Dante observed. "We're definitely looking at a mortal."  
  
"Babe, don't mention food in here." Trish's stomach churned at the thought, and she yanked the back door open, stepping out, and drawing in a sweet lungful of fresh air in relief. That relief quickly turned to panic as, with a startled shriek, it registered that her foot wasn't hitting anything, and she already had more than enough forward momentum to keep going. There was an apparently bottomless chasm stretching out a good ten feet from the doorway, and she flailed, windmilling her arms and grabbing hold of the doorframe.  
  
"Trish!" She felt her husband's hand clamp down on her shoulder, pulling away from the threshold.  
  
She closed her eyes, burying her face against his shoulder as she caught her breath. "I'm okay. I think I lost about fifty years off my life, but I'm good."  
  
Dante kept one arm firmly around her, but not holding her to him as he leaned forward, peering over the edge. "Oh, this is cute. Real cute. Shit. Gotta flashlight?"  
  
Trish nodded. "Yeah, I brought the noisy cricket," she replied. The tip of the hat to _Men in Black_ was her nickname for her favorite flashlight. It was disc-shaped, rounded to fit comfortably in the palm of a hand, with a strap that went over the back of the hand, and incredibly powerful. She unzipped yet another pocket on her motorcycle jacket, and held it out to him.  
  
Dante slid Ebony and Ivory back into their holsters, and shone the light down the chasm. "Good news. There's a bottom."  
  
Trish eyed him warily, waiting for the punch line.  
  
"Bad news, I think we found what's coating the walls."  
  
Trish wrinkled her nose, looking around. She wasn't inclined to peer down into that pit. "Ew. What?"  
  
He was quiet, then shook his head. "I can't tell if it's shit, or ground-up body parts."  
  
That did it. Trish coughed, retching, and pressed her hand over her mouth, blinking back the watery tears in her eyes. "Gotta love these simple, easy hauntings."  
  
He aimed the light across the yard, checking out their surroundings. "Yeah, more fun than getting a vamp to vacation in Alaska in the summer."  
  
"How deep would you say that is?"  
  
Dante switched off the light, handing it back to her. "If I had to guess, I'd say fifty, maybe sixty feet. Nothing fatal for us, but a helluvabad fall for anybody else."  
  
"Damn. No chance to find a length of rope or something to lower anything down there." If they should decide it prudent to retrieve a sample, she didn't like the other option of either of them going down there one bit.  
  
"Babe, I don't think this is one job where samples would give us any more clues."  
  
"Oh, good." She tucked away the light and zipped her pocket shut. "Let's backtrack." Without waiting for him, she turned to hurry out of the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah, we've still got those stairs, and a place like this has gotta have a cellar."   
  
Trish looked at the caked door, and wasn't about to touch it. She kicked it open enough to make it swing back toward her, then hooked her heel around the clean side to pull it open. She stepped into the dining room, noting with minor surprise and major relief that the smell was didn't leave the kitchen.  
  
"This is more than just a spook house, though," Dante said. "Heh, guess we won't have to skin the guy."  
  
They both paused, taking a moment to enjoy fresh air, when a little yappy bark caught their attention. In front of the other door across the dining room stood a little Welsh Corgi. He barked again, his tail wagging as he danced in place.  
  
"Was that dog here before?" Dante asked, drawing his guns slowly.  
  
"No."  
  
The Corgi yipped again, then turned about, running down the hall. Trish could hear its nails clattering on the wooden floor as it retreated. Trish glanced to Dante, then quickly moved after the dog, following it. "What is it? Did Grandpa fall down the well again?" She paused, considering. "Ew. That might explain what's down that pit."  
  
"Don't go too fast," Dante cautioned. "If it wants us to follow, it'll come back."  
  
Trish followed the dog down the hall, seeing it duck into the monochromatic room. She hurried in, only to come to an abrupt stop. Although he was right behind her, Dante managed to catch himself before colliding.  
  
Trish didn't pay him any attention. In the middle of the lounge stood a rather cheerful and friendly-looking ghost, dressed as though he stepped out of the 1700s. That wasn't what made her stop, though. In his hand, loosely aimed in their direction, was a flintlock. They all stood rooted to the spot, looking at one another.  
  
_This is just seriously pushing the whole 'what the fuck?!' envelope,_ Trish thought. Aggressive, shrieking ghosts, she was used to those. There was also the occasional oblivious ghost, which she had first assumed the maid to be.  
  
No one was making any move one way or another, and the Corgi was nowhere in sight, so Trish decided to break the silence. "Uh...did a dog just run through here?" she asked.  
  
"Quite so," the ghost replied cheerfully, his voice a clipped, cultured British accent. He gestured with his unarmed hand to the other door. "Right that way."  
  
Trish didn't know _what_ to make of the situation, and Dante wasn't saying or doing anything either, so she guessed he was in the same boat. It would have been surreal enough if the man had not been a ghost, to walk in, finding someone smiling as though they hadn't a care in the world, just as helpful as can be, while pointing a gun at them. Considering it was a ghost, the whole thing was just damn weird.  
  
He remained where he was, grinning happily, that flintlock never wavering. Trish cautiously took a step to the side, moving into the room slowly, circling him as she made her way to the door, never once taking her eyes off the ghost. Dante followed suit, staying near her.  
  
"Uh..." What did one say in such a situation, exactly? "Thanks." She hesitated, trying to think of something appropriately British to say that didn't involve calling the friendly and quite armed ghost a bleedin' git. "Um, cheerio and all that rot?"  
  
As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit her tongue. _Okay, so maybe 'rot' might not have been the best choice..._  
  
The ghost only chuckled as she reached the doorway, and waved. "Cheerio, good lass!"  
  
Trish began to back out of the doorway, when he gestured with his free hand, holding up an index finger as if he just recalled something. "Oh, spare a moment?"  
  
Trish stopped, watching him warily. "What?"  
  
That grin grew bigger, and there was something decidedly unfriendly about it all the sudden. "No hard feelings, lass. For the queen!" the ghost declared, suddenly aiming the flintlock square at her chest and fired.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	3. Chapter Three

**Just a Simple Haunting**  
  
**Chapter Three**

  
  
Trish staggered back out of the room with a startled yelp, and Dante snarled as the sound took on a pained note, already opening fire on the ghost. He _knew _he should have trusted his instincts. But harmless ghosts were just that, and they had it bad enough without somebody bothering the poor buggers. He hadn't seen a flintlock outside of a museum, and it fit the attire so well, he wasn't sure if it was part of the ghost or not, until the damned thing shot Trish.  
  
The ghost shrieked as bullets hit their mark, and vanished, the very real gun clattering noisily to the floor. As soon as it was gone, Dante holstered his guns and raced out to the foyer, where Trish was on one knee, clutching her bloodied left shoulder and swearing.  
  
"Trish, speak to me," Dante snapped, worry sharpening his tone as he knelt by her, making her straighten up a bit as he pulled her hand from the wound, checking it over.  
  
"Next time..." Trish gritted out between clenched teeth, "we see a ghost... we shoot first... and _then _ask questions."  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me," he replied. Trish tilted her head back, hissing quietly in pain, and he pulled the jacket aside. It hadn't hit the leather, and if the thing really had been a flintlock, and not enchanted at that, the bitch of it was, her jacket probably would have served to keep it from striking her altogether.  
  
As he pulled up her white tee shirt, he noticed that the words were a bit obscured from the blood, but already the flow was starting to slow down. He pulled off his glove and ran his finger over the wound, gauging it. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, just below the wound. From the color and quantity of the blood, it had nicked an artery, but was beginning to heal.  
  
"Thank God you're a demon," he said quietly, quite aware that would likely have been a fatal shot if she had been otherwise. "And yes, I do see the irony."  
  
Trish chuckled softly, a faint, pained, hissing sound, and then bit her bottom lip as he carefully began to withdraw the slug.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Stings like a bitch."  
  
"I'm almost done." He held the metal slug up, inspecting it a moment before rubbing it down his shirt to get Trish's blood off. A closer look confirmed what he hoped was the case. "It seems like a normal bullet. I don't think you'll even feel it in five minutes."  
  
"Five minutes can't pass too quickly." Her voice sounded less strained though, and her breathing was easier.  
  
Dante continued to study the wound, watching it until he started visibly seeing signs of healing, then pulled her shirt back down. He looked at her for a moment, then pulled her into a tight hug, one arm around her, hand going behind her head, holding her protectively. She didn't protest, hugging him back and burying her face against his neck, taking a few moments to relax while the wound continued to mend.  
  
"This isn't a normal haunt," he said quietly against her hair, "but they don't seem experienced with us, either." Trish nodded slightly in lieu of any verbal reply, and didn't appear to be about to let go anytime soon. That was just fine with Dante. Screw the house. The ghosts have been dead for years, and they weren't going anywhere. They could wait. Trish was more important. She was his family now, and the only one still alive.  
  
He opened his eyes, moving his head a bit to look around the foyer, and froze. Across the foyer, at the mouth of another hallway, was the ghostly form of a young boy, looking for all the world just like Virgil, the last time Dante ever saw his brother as a mortal.  
  
Trish tensed as well, looking up and around, looking back over her shoulder to where Virgil stood. The ghost hovered into the hall out of sight, and she looked back to him. "What was that?"  
  
In the back of his mind, the thought passed by that it was a bit odd of Trish to ask what, and not whom. But it didn't really seem important enough to worry about as he got to his feet, pulling Ebony and Ivory from their holsters. "Virgil."  
  
Trish's expression was blank. "Huh? How do you know?" She stood, wincing a little as she rotated her shoulder, testing out the injury.  
  
Dante shot her a look. "Because it looked like him. My kid brother." His gaze went back to the doorway, scowling. "But it's not him."  
  
"Uh, you mean that glowing blob?"  
  
He blinked, looking to Trish. "You saw a blob?" She nodded. He hesitated, not liking this. No, definitely not liking this. "It looked like my brother." He set his jaw. "I can't trust my own eyes, then."  
  
"Um, maybe it didn't look like anything but a blob to me because there's nobody for it to look like to me?" Trish suggested.  
  
"Hell if I know. This place has more to it than a simple haunt."  
  
"Yeah." Trish walked over, standing just a little bit between him and the doorway. "And here I thought this would just be a simple kick-some-ass-and-then-get-laid deal."  
  
He shot her a smirk, more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this place, either literally or figuratively. "Nothing's gonna change that, babe."  
  
"Well, aside from the 'simple' aspect." Trish shot him a faint grin.  
  
"Point."  
  
"Which is what I call," Trish replied, drawing Sparda.  
  
Dante wasn't about to let her put herself in harm's way again after the other incident. Oh, he knew good and well she often called it for being on point first to take any other hits meant for him. As much as he hated it, he knew Trish was fully capable of handling herself, and as competent as he. After all, Dante himself had trained her in the finer points of the business. It wasn't a usual occurrence for her to get injured, and in genuinely critical moments, unless she had a valid argument in her favor for taking point, he insisted on being in the lead.  
  
"Not this time, babe." He brushed past her, moving to the doorway. Seeing Virgil again, though, even though he _knew_ it wasn't Virgil... Maybe it wouldn't hit as hard as it did if it weren't for the fact he had to bring down Nelo Angelo -- Virgil -- after somehow, Mundus claimed him for his own army.  
  
"Seeing him again?" Trish asked softly.  
  
"Yes," he growled, raising the guns. Then heard Virgil's voice, soft and childish, just like a boy's.  
  
"Dante?"  
  
He trembled, his fingers tightening on the triggers, but not quite enough to fire. "Get back, spirit!"  
  
"Did it just do something?" Trish asked. "I saw it pulse."  
  
"It said my name," Dante admitted.  
  
"Want me to take it down?" Trish asked, studying Virgil, or whatever the hell it was she was seeing. "It's a lot smaller than what I'd think a person's form would be."  
  
Lightning crackled over the chambers and down the barrels. Dante stared at the ghostly form of Virgil, gritting his teeth. "Get it," he told Trish.  
  
Trish moved forward carefully, holding Sparda ready, her eyes locked on Virgil. Then she moved with superhuman speed, slicing through the air, slicing through the ghost, but it didn't dissipate. She swore and kicked the wall, pushing away from it. He didn't know how Trish missed, but the ghost shrieked, a horrible, high-pitched sound, and zipped away.  
  
That didn't sound a thing like his brother. "You aren't Virgil!" he snarled, giving chase. "Get back here!" The ghost faded into the floor, and he fired off a few rounds, but missed as it disappeared, and only succeeded in turning the hardwood into Swiss cheese.  
  
"How did you miss?" he demanded, turning to Trish. He wasn't accusing her, but, dammit! He _saw_ her slice right through the ghost.  
  
"It's only about the size of my fist," Trish replied, "maybe even smaller. It had a pulsing corona."  
  
"Is it gone?" he asked, looking around.  
  
Trish nodded, and pointed to where he had nailed the floor. "Went down through there."  
  
"Just a spirit," he growled. "Damned dirty trickster." He felt her hand on his arm, rubbing it lightly as she looked up at him.  
  
"Where to now?" she asked softly.  
  
"Upstairs or down? That thing went through the floor." Dante scowled and stepped back, looking around. "And just where's that damned dog?!"  
  
Almost as if it had been waiting for him to ask, there was a sudden, sharp yap from upstairs. They both glanced to the staircase.  
  
"Well, that answers that," Trish said wryly.  
  
"Have I mentioned how much I'm not liking the timing of that mutt's appearance?" Dante said, moving to the stairs.  
  
"You have now." She followed him and ducked in front at the last minute.   
  
He almost pulled her back, but she stayed to the side, giving him a clear shot. She could block most things with Sparda, giving them cover, while he opened fire. For once, he didn't feel inclined to admire the view as she climbed up ahead of him. This was turning out to be quite an unpleasant little haunt.  
  
They reached the top of the staircase, which was closed by two windowless doors, side by side in a French door style. Trish looked it over, paying attention to the hinges, and then braced herself against the wall. Dante raised Ebony and Ivory, watching intently and waiting. Trish delivered a solid kick to the door just below the handles, sending them flying open with a bang.  
  
A sudden, violent, and extremely frigid rush of air caught them off-guard, and Dante moved to brace Trish with his shoulder to keep her from staggering backward on the stairs. They both moved into a crouch, squinting against the freezing, powerful wind, inching closer. Traveling on the wind was a pained wail so keen and sharp, it could only belong to the undead.  
  
Dante kept his pistols aimed down the hall, which was bathed in an unearthly blue aura all the way throughout. The doors were still standing open, both to the hallway, and the room doors farther down, as if the wind paid them no mind. He could make out some of the windows, all in different states of wear. Some were open, some were closed, and few appeared intact while others were shattered. Even if the wind ignored the doors, it was whipping curtains around, billowing them violently.  
  
But everything else seemed completely normal compared to the ghosts themselves. They were moving about in no particular direction or pattern, and there was absolutely no relation to any of them. He guessed there were perhaps thirty in the narrow hall, maybe forty but no more than that. It was the most concentrated spiritual infestation he could ever recall seeing. Even stranger than that was that there were obvious and distinct differences in age, gender, ethnicity, overall appearance, approximate era of origin, and so forth. He sorely doubted any of them were native to the lodge.  
  
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife as he slowly pushed himself upright. Trish stared at the ghosts, an utterly dumbfounded expression on her face.  
  
_Yeah, I know the feeling, babe._ Dante shook his head. "This doesn't make sense!" he shouted over the wails and the roar of rushing wind. "This lodge's been quiet for hell knows how long, and all'a the sudden it becomes Grand Central Station of the Spook world?!"  
  
He froze as all the ghosts suddenly stopped milling about, and slowly turned to face them.  
  
Trish was silent for a moment, then said the only thing that was coming to Dante's mind as well. "I think he hears you, Ray."  
  
"And these ain't Slimer," he retorted. "Send 'em back to the grave!" He opened fire, shooting toward the rear of the crowd as the ghosts shrieked, rushing at them. Trish moved into the hall in front of him, staying to one side as she swung Sparda, cutting through several of the closer ones.  
  
The ghosts didn't retreat, and the two inched farther down the hall, with Trish dissipating the ones closest to them, and Dante laying down cover fire toward the rear. They just kept coming, not showing the least a bit of a survival instinct whatsoever, and Dante didn't care what anybody said; most undead did have at least _some _sense of survival. He was liking the situation less and less when he started to notice their faces. Not a one of them was aggressive. They were incredibly sorrowful, and made no move to evade either his guns or Sparda.  
  
"You get the feelin' they don't wanna be here?" he shouted to Trish.  
  
"I get the feeling none of 'em are even local!" she shouted back. "What the hell do know about the guy who hired us anyway? Should I step out on a limb here and say 'not enough, apparently'?"  
  
"He knew the password!" Dante replied. "He ain't a demon, that much is for sure!"  
  
"Hell, I can't pass up the chance for this quote, it fits what I wanna say too well," Trish said, and Dante raised an eyebrow, aiming at a ghost. "Listen, you smell something?"  
  
He smirked. "Only the reek of undead! Which is still better than the damn kitchen!"  
  
"Then tell me what a trap's supposed to smell like!"   
  
He didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't deny Trish had a point. They finished off the last few ghosts, and the wind came to a stop. "Usually, it stinks," he admitted.  
  
Trish moved to a doorway, looking inside, checking for more ghosts. The wind was still, but the eerie blue aura remained. He watched her move about, noting that it almost left a faint vapor trail in her wake. Reaching behind him, he pulled out Alastor again, noting with a slight twinge of disappointment that the blade was still calm. At least if it were a demon, they'd know what they were coming up against.  
  
"Ever seen anything like this before?" Trish asked, waving her hand through the blue aura.  
  
"No, but then, I've never walked into a room and stepped into a Golden Era movie either. This funhouse is just full of surprises," he replied, his tone a bit sarcastic.  
  
"Point." Trish moved over to a window, looking out, and Dante walked a few feet away into the hall, giving the other rooms a quick visual once-over.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	4. Chapter Four

**Just a Simple Haunting**  
  
**Chapter Four**

  
  
It took Trish a few moments to realize what was wrong with the picture when she looked out the window. She cupped her hands against the pane to block out the interior lighting for a better look. The entire grounds was in total ruin. Naked, rotting tree branches, shriveled, dead plants, complete decay everywhere. "Babe, wanna take a look at this?"  
  
She heard his footsteps as he walked back into the room, and stopped. "I don't think I do," he replied, but walked over to her anyway. His arm went around her waist as he looked over her shoulder, then he thunked his forehead lightly on the window frame. "Someone's having far too much fun with spells."  
  
"Necromancy?" Trish asked, looking up at him.  
  
Dante was quiet for a few moments, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Illusion, if I had to guess. The place was fine when we rode up, and nowhere near enough time's passed."  
  
"What do you want to do next?"  
  
"I don't think there's much to find up here, but let's be--" He stopped abruptly and whirled around. Trish looked to the doorway of the room as she heard little nails clattering over the wooden floor, and saw the Corgi zip past the doorway.  
  
"Where does that damn dog keep coming from? It's like that reappearing midget on _Happy Gilmore_." Dante shook his head. "It better hope I don't catch it. Damn thing's led us to trouble twice before."  
  
"It went to the stairs," Trish said. "There's not many other options we have as far as routes to take, anyway."  
  
"It's probably real too, which means it's gotta take the same ways we go."  
  
"So we go downstairs," Trish said, walking to the doorway.  
  
"Yeah." She was pulled to a stop as Dante grabbed her arm, and moved past her. "I'll take point," he said firmly, drawing Ebony and Ivory. Trish didn't argue, and followed him as he calmly strode down the hall, looking down the stairs. "Where _is_ that damn dog?"  
  
Trish looked around him and put her forefinger and thumb in her mouth, whistling sharply. From somewhere downstairs, in the direction of the door, she heard him bark. Then, a few moments later came another whistle, this one much more distant, from somewhere outside.  
  
"I don't throw my voice _that_ well," Trish said.  
  
"You make up for it in other areas." He gave her a cocky, leering grin, kissing her quickly before sitting on the bannister and sliding down, spinning quickly as soon as he hit the floor to cover any possible threats.  
  
Trish followed suit, and started laughing when, just before she reached bottom, Dante tossed his guns into the air to catch her around the waist, quickly setting her on her feet, and then caught Ebony and Ivory with expert ease as they began to obey the law of gravity. He grinned at her and gave her a quick kiss.  
  
"It's time we got back in stride," he said, walking to the door. "We've been moving way too slow. And I'm going to skin that little football of a dog."  
  
"If it even _is_ a dog," Trish pointed out, drawing Sparda again as she followed him.  
  
"If it's not a dog, I'll feed it Ifrit." He stopped on the porch, looking around. "Let's find the cellar. It may be cliché, but we haven't checked it yet."  
  
"I'm there." Trish frowned, looking back into the house. "But where's the cellar door?"  
  
"Maybe this place has one of those outside doors?" He looked at her for a long moment. "You _better_ not have predicted the future with that _Wizard of Oz_ wisecrack earlier."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Trish drawled, putting one hand on her hip as she tossed out a playful retort. "Or what? You'll spank me?"  
  
"Maybe I _won't_," Dante replied, shooting her a smirk that said _'so there!'_ plainer than words. "How's _that_ for a threat?" He jogged down the steps, covering the yard with the guns, turning around to face the house.  
  
Trish followed him, then shot him the most pitiful look she could muster. "Now yer just bein' mean."  
  
Dante laughed and cocked his head toward the left of the house, heading in that direction. "C'mon."  
  
Trish fell into step beside him, and glanced up at the second floor windows as they passed. The condition of the windows remained unchanged, but there was no longer a blue glow. "Huh. The aura's gone," she murmured, more to herself than to Dante, and looked around at their surroundings. The trees and shrubbery were very much alive. "Hmm. I'm thinking that aura had something to do with the illusion."  
  
"It may have," Dante agreed, and edged around the fireplace at the end of the wing. "I see doors."  
  
"Doors? Plural." Trish fell silent for a moment. "How much are we getting paid for this anyhow?"  
  
"Seventy-five thousand," Dante replied. "We got forty-five up front."  
  
Trish looked around him, studying the doors. One appeared to lead back into the house, although Trish couldn't recall seeing a corresponding one from the inside. The kitchen was on the other side of the house. The other door was a conventional cellar door, sloping into the ground. "Okay. So, if those things have numbers on them, or if a little man in a suit shows up yelling something about a plane, we take the money and run, deal?"  
  
Dante smirked at her. "Are you _trying_ to jinx us?"  
  
Trish flashed him a grin. "Quick question before we go on. Did you notice a door inside that could be that door?"  
  
He didn't answer immediately. "Not the kitchen, it's over there," he mused. "Come to think of it, I didn't. Maybe it was plastered over?"  
  
"Maybe, or maybe it leads to a dimension of sight, a dimension of sound, a dimension of mind." Trish gave him a smartalecky grin when he glared at her.  
  
"One of these days, all these jinxes are gonna turn around and bite us in the ass," he said, moving toward the doors.  
  
"Want me to get them open while you cover it?"  
  
"Do it."  
  
Trish studied the double doors of the cellar, considering the best way to lift them both at once. It wasn't bolted, so she moved to one side, sticking Sparda's tip under the handle farthest from her, and grabbed the other with her free hand. She flipped the opposite door up while stepping backward, pulling the near door open.  
  
Dante stood a few feet back, both guns trained on the dark depths. "Clear. I'll go down first."  
  
Trish nodded, and waited until he several steps down, then entered as well, turning a bit to walk sideways, facing behind them for any threats that might come up the rear. Then she walked right into Dante, who had stopped abruptly.  
  
"I hate you, Trish," he said, and she blinked. "This _can't_ get any more clichéd."  
  
"Huh? What?"   
  
"Just get a look at this."  
  
Trish glanced over his shoulder and her eyes widened.   
  
It was a normal cellar...for about all of five feet into the room. Then the floor became ancient stone, and the far wall had a similar arched entryway framed by burning torches. Beyond the doorway, she could see the stone wall curving downward along a twisting spiral of steps down a narrow staircase. A faint glow against the rocks suggested more torches farther inside.  
  
"It's not my fault!" she finally protested.  
  
"Our employer's damn lucky that this is here. I'd have wanted more, otherwise."  
  
Trish shot him an askance look. "Why's that? _I'm_ wanting more because this _is_ here."  
  
"Maybe, but with this here, it seems to me that whatever's here needs to be wiped out." Dante cautiously moved toward the entryway. "You coming?"  
  
Trish turned around again to cover their rear, holding Sparda ready. "Well, not yet," she replied, smirking a bit. "I'm not _that_ much of a mercenary type that the mere talk of money'll do it for me."  
  
He chuckled quietly. "Pity, that. Takes half the fun out of what I could do."  
  
They both fell silent then, moving in perfect, stealthy unison down the staircase. Trish fought down the urge to look down to see what was coming next. She trusted Dante, and let him worry about whatever lay ahead. She was just waiting for something else to happen. They were hitting cliché after cliché, and at the rate they were going, Trish half-expected a huge boulder to come following them down the staircase, a flood of vermin or other things to spill down the stairs, or for the stairs to just disappear completely.  
  
Or perhaps something straight out of _Scooby-Doo_, with a perfectly human perpetrator in a bad mask sneaking up behind them with a mallet.  
  
She felt Dante stop and lean backward ever so slightly, stopping her descent and bracing her for a moment before moving forward. Trish took two more steps down, then stepped back onto the dirt floor. The shadows of numerous candles or torches cast flickering shadows engaged in a merry-mad dance on the walls, which curved outward and upward, still lined with stone. She stood still, her back against Dante's, waiting for him to make a move. Curiosity was eating away at her, but for the time being, their back was her responsibility.  
  
Then, someone who was _not_ Dante spoke. Surprised, Trish turned a bit to look past him.  
  


* * *

  
"You two fucks have a lot of nerve!"  
  
Dante narrowed his eyes, watching as a young woman clad in a flowing black robe, probably not even out of her teens yet, rose from the huge stone throne where she had been sitting. The damnable Corgi was in the middle of the room, wagging its tail as it watched them.  
  
He took aim at her, cocking the guns. Trish started to move away from him, letting him deal with the woman while she did a quick recon of the cavernous, dimly-lit room. "Sit. Back. Down," he ordered, snapping each word, "and put your hands in the air. Maybe then I won't kill you."  
  
"You wouldn't have a chance!" she sneered, and aimed her hands at the ground, starting to chant.  
  
Well, he _did_ warn her. Dante opened fire, but the bullets struck a shield of some sort, ricocheting. Trish dove to avoid the stray bullets, and the Corgi yelped, skittering back to cower under the throne.  
  
"Shit!" he swore, putting the guns away as he drew Alastor. "Shut 'er up, babe!"  
  
He didn't have to tell Trish twice. His wife raced toward the sorceress, moving with superhuman speed, and jumped up, flipping in the air and twisting Sparda downward as she moved above the woman, ready to bring Sparda down through the shield. Dante surged forward as well, but a movement in the shadows caught his attention. "Trish, look out!" he shouted as he skidded to a halt, trying to warn her as a huge stone golem swung its massive arm to swat her away.  
  
Trish didn't have a chance to evade. He heard her yelp over the sound of rock striking flesh, and then the sickening thud as her body collided with the wall. Dante snarled, narrowing his eyes dangerously. He desperately wanted to check on Trish, but reminded himself that even if she were injured, she would heal fairly rapidly. Right now, the golem, which towered over him at a good fifteen feet, and, to his estimation, was as wide as Dante was tall, demanded his attention.  
  
The sorceress patted her open mouth in an imitation of a yawn, putting on a show of boredom. "You're going to die," she announced in a blase tone. "Do try to put on a good show."  
  
"You little bitch," Dante heard Trish snarl, and heard her getting back to her feet. Inwardly, he relaxed a little, putting more of his attention on the golem. It was big, and it was strong, but to their advantage it was also slow.  
  
"Now it's _my_ turn!" Trish said, and her voice was from higher up than before. Behind him, Dante heard a surge of power, and a tremendous rip as electricity crackled through the air, impacting on the shield.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and saw it was _still_ holding. They'd have to worry about her later. The golem was the first priority...and an idea came to mind. "Go for the legs, babe!" he ordered, quickly sheathing Alastor as he willed Ifrit to take form on his hands.  
  
"Don't go anywhere, bitch," Trish spat, and whirled about to dodge another incoming attack from the Golem, then she dropped to the ground, standing in front of it, her hands on her hips and a saucy grin on her face. "Wanna play tag?" she taunted.  
  
"You don't know what you're dealing with!" the woman shouted.  
  
Dante remained back, clenching his fist as Ifrit's blaze steadily grew. He smirked darkly as he watched Trish hold her hand out, not even bothering to look at the young sorceress as she casually extended her middle finger in her direction.  
  
"Eat me," Trish retorted, her tone almost bored.  
  
Dante reflexively tensed up as the golem brought his massive fists down at Trish, and she didn't seem to be planning to move. But just before they struck, she darted forward in a powerful sprint, ducking between the Golem's legs to blast it from behind, knocking it off-balance.  
  
Dante shook his head and _tsk_ed. "Slow and clumsy. Definitely stoned. Guess he didn't learn to just say no." He raced forward, nimbly darting up the golem's arms and smashed his inferno-enveloped fists into its head.  
  
Her gambit paid off, and the golem teetered for a moment before landing heavily on the floor. Stones rattled and dust fell as the resulting miniature earthquake shook things up. Dante backflipped off its shoulders as flames erupted all around him, and landed as hard as he could on the back of the golem's head.  
  
Chunks of rock shattered where he landed, then he felt the golem's weight shift Dante looked around quickly, and realized too late what it was doing, glancing to Trish just in time to see one of its legs smack her like a battering ram, sending her crashing into yet another wall.  
  
"Trish!" he shouted, hearing her scream. Viciously, he punched the golem's head again, watching as she rolled onto her side, coughing painfully and holding her ribs.  
  
"I'm okay," she called out, coughing again and settling back, waiting for whatever injuries she had sustained to heal. "Just git 'im!"  
  
That sounded like a workable plan to him. Time to get serious. Flames surged to the surface as he willed his body to take on the far more demonic form of Ifrit.  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	5. Chapter Five

**Just a Simple Haunting**  
  
**Chapter Five**

  
  
Trish lay still for a few more moments as her ribs knitted together, watching as her husband leapt into the air above the golem, literally stopping in midair for a heartbeat. Flame completely engulfed his red fist, then he plummeted onto the golem's back, hellfire erupting all around him. She then turned her gaze toward the woman. Dante could handle the golem now.   
  
"What...what _are_ you?" she screamed, looking appropriately frightened.  
  
"Get the woman!" Dante snapped as he began to melt away the golem in the inferno. "The dog is mine!"  
  
Trish curled her lip back in a feral snarl, getting to her feet. She built up a charge in her hands as she raced toward the shield, the electricity exploding forth a split second before impact.  
  
For a few moments, it looked as though the shield would hold. But finally, it shattered with an audible, ear-splitting crack, and the woman shrieked in pain. Trish didn't give her a chance to recover as she snapped her hand around the woman's throat, pulling Sparda from its sheath as she raised her in the air, holding her up.  
  
"You want to know what we are?" Trish snarled, jabbing the woman in the side with the tip of her sword. "We're the ones your mother warned you about."  
  
"Don't kill me!" the teen gasped, her hands around Trish's wrist, trying to break her grip, her feet kicking uselessly in the air.  
  
"And why shouldn't I?" Trish applied a little more pressure with Sparda.  
  
"I'm too young to die!" she screamed.  
  
Trish stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "You should have thought about that _before_ you pulled this shit, you little bitch."  
  
"You mean you're too inept to do this yourself!" Dante shouted.  
  
"Huh?" Trish glanced back to him, watching him emerge from the molten rock, leaving blazing footprints on the stone behind him as he approached. "Whaddya mean?"  
  
"That was a pathetic attack," he spat, glaring at the woman. "There's no way she could have pulled this off on her own. She doesn't know a damned thing."  
  
"You're right!" the woman stammered. "I didn't do this alone!"  
  
So she had a little bit more usefulness to her still. Trish sheathed her sword and, with her hand still around her throat, slammed the woman into the wall. Trish used her own body to effectively pin her while grabbing one of her wrists with her free hand. Stepping back, Trish released her throat and jerked the woman forward viciously, spinning her around and slamming her against the wall once more, twisting her hand up between her shoulder blades and then put her arm around the woman's neck. Trish stepped back, pushing down against the woman's back, and pulling up against her chin with her forearm, keeping her effectively immobilized in a very painful position, and turned to make her face Dante.  
  
Of course, her position also made it very easy to snap the woman's neck. Just a quick movement or a fraction more pressure...  
  
Dante's form returned to normal, but he was still enveloped in an aura of fire. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Who helped you?"  
  
"Sarah," she sobbed. "I'm Sarah O'Neil! Please don't do anything to me! I'll tell you everything! It wasn't supposed to be like this!"  
  
Trish snarled silently, but held her tongue. She was playing the bad cop role. Dante could play the slightly-less-homicidal-bad-cop.  
  
"No shit," Dante said. "You're too pathetic to pull this off. Tell me who gave you all this, and where they are!"  
  
"I don't know! A guy came to me, and offered me all this. He told me I just needed to come here, kill the caretaker, and this power would be mine!"  
  
"Names! I want names! Who was it?" he shouted.  
  
Sarah was outright sobbing now. "He didn't tell me his name! He was just some stiff in a suit with two panthers following him around! That's all I know! He showed me how to make a portal, he showed me how to get here, but he didn't tell me who he was!"  
  
"What did he look like?"  
  
"I don't know! He was wearing a suit and hat! I couldn't see him very well!"  
  
"And?"  
  
"And he had a briefcase, I don't know! He looked like some kind of businessman, or a lawyer or something! I don't _know_!"  
  
Trish raised an eyebrow. "Two panthers?" she murmured. Why did that description sound so familiar? She quickly mulled it over, then it hit her. Blinking in surprise, she glanced to Dante, who met her gaze. Trish narrowed her eyes sharply and glared down at the woman.  
  
"And two panthers didn't strike you as odd?" Dante shouted.  
  
"She doesn't have enough brains to do the math," Trish retorted.  
  
"He gave me all this!" Sarah protested. "What was I supposed to do? Say, 'gee, mister, what kinda freak walks around with panthers'?"  
  
"Uh, yeah?" Trish said sarcastically. "That should have been a _big_ clue!"  
  
"No shit," Dante agreed. "Maybe she can do _this_ math." He glared down at Sarah. "She's sold her soul to a demon, and she's going to rot in whatever hell she believes in."  
  
"Hope you like warm climates, bitch," Trish spat. She was just waiting for the go ahead to snap her pathetic little neck.  
  
"Please!" Sarah sobbed. "Please don't! I can change!"  
  
"Pathetic little tramp!" Dante snapped. "You can't just say you want out now!" He shook his head, raking his hand through his white hair. "Throw 'er down, babe. She's a stupid bitch, but I'm not gonna send a human to hell."  
  
That was _not_ what Trish was wanting to hear. She glared down at the woman in disgust. It would be so easy, just a little more pressure, just a little quick motion, and it would be all over.  
  
But it wasn't what Dante said to do.  
  
In the end, she merely snarled, then released her, giving the woman a vicious shove away, sending her sprawling on the stone floor.  
  


* * *

  
Dante waited patiently for Trish, knowing her well enough to have a reasonably solid idea on what she'd do. Not that he'd complain if she snapped the little witch's neck, but if they killed her now, she'd go to hell. All that would do for them is strengthen the enemy. The girl was as good as dead, unless she could move real fast in the next couple of hours.  
  
"Mundus would just love to get his hands on you," Dante snarled, "make something nice and rotten, and barely worth the bullet I'd waste putting you down." He grabbed her by the front of her robe and lifted her up. "Listen closely, and you just _might_ live. You get your ass onto church ground and you claim sanctuary and you stay there for the rest of your life, _and_ you try and beg God for forgiveness, 'cause you made a deal with a demon and it's gonna take the highest judge in existence to get you outta that fate."  
  
"Maybe a convent," Trish suggested dryly, and looked to the stairs, growing bored as she straightened her clothes.  
  
There was a thud as Dante threw the girl back to the floor. "And take your goddamned dog with you, or I'm turning it into a crispy critter!"  
  
Trish shot her one last look, then walked up the stairs.  
  


* * *

  
Dante started to follow her, then stopped, looking back to the woman. "And release those ghosts from whatever sick shit you've got them doing!" he shouted back, and began to catch up with Trish. "The deal's over for the demon, he's gotta collect now. She better get a move on."  
  
"Silas, that slimy little shit," Trish growled as they reached the cellar. She stalked out ahead of him to the lawn. "I suppose it too much to hope we'd have heard the last of them."  
  
Dante shook his head, following her back to the bikes. "Shara's the only one who'd heard the last of him, her and her family," he said, recalling the young woman who got on the bad side of a few demons by way of an encounter with Dante. "That was the contract." He felt a twinge of amusement, recalling the high-stakes gamble the woman made, along with her attorney brother, and managed to out-legalese the demon lawyer.  
  
"Yeah, well, hope springs eternal or something," Trish said, raking a hand through her hair as she stopped between their motorcycles.  
  
"I bet the fucker didn't even plan to get us involved in this one," Dante replied. "Michigan's not close enough to New York to factor us in."  
  
Trish laughed a bit, looking around. The sound wasn't one of humor though. It was too dry, and had the wrong note to it, borne more from the release of adrenaline and tension than from any amusement. He silently stepped up behind her, slipping is arms around her waist, hugging her gently. After a moment, Trish turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against him in a tight hug.  
  
They held one another for a few moments, and Dante gently stroked her hair as they both came down from the battle high. Gradually, Trish's grip relaxed.  
  
"So, wanna crash in town," she asked quietly, "or wait till we go home?"  
  
Dante grinned slightly. "It's a long haul back to New York."  
  
"Hope the motel's got good walls." Trish pulled away to go to her bike, then stopped, giving him a saucy smirk. "And if it doesn't, well, that's just too damn bad for everybody else, then."  
  
He laughed, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to him for a quick kiss. "That's my baby."  
  


* * *

  
Trish parked in front of their room at the motel, and hopped off her bike, then grabbed her bag and walked to the door. She pulled off her helmet, shaking her hair free while she waited for Dante to unlock it.  
  
He opened the door, pushing it wide as he stepped back. "After you, babe."  
  
Trish flashed him a smile and walked in, dropping her bag in front of the nondescript dresser where she set her helmet, and started to shrug her leather jacket off. It slipped off her shoulders, and when she reached behind herself to pull the cuffs over her hands, Dante's arms went over hers, loosely pinning her. Trish closed her eyes, relaxing against him when Dante slid his hands up her shirt and over her breasts as he nuzzled her neck.  
  
"I love you, Trish," he whispered, kissing her ear.  
  
"I love you too, Dante."  
  


_to be continued..._

  



	6. Chapter Six End

**Note to Readers:** Thanks so much for the feedback! J Chaos & I are really glad you're enjoying this. ^_^ Anyhow, here's the final chapter. Sorry it took longer than I expected to get it compiled; Real Life kinda interfered for a bit. Bleh. And a quick explanation on something; this was originally supposed to be part of an RPG we're involved in, but so much of it was not connected that we felt it worthwhile to convert to a canon 'fic. There, the demon lawyer Silas did show up in relation to a storyline with a character named Shara; I kept that basic information, but changed certain things and aspects. She does not make any kind of appearance, save by name, and if anything, is just a background character for a bit of depth, giving a glimpse into their lives beyond the scope of this one particular job.  
~ Zanne  
  


**Just a Simple Haunting**  
  
**Chapter Six**

  
  
Dante opened his eyes as he heard the shower shut off, and looked over to the open doorway, casting a quick glance to the cheap digital clock on the motel's nightstand as he did. It was almost time for lunch.  
  
He smirked slightly in amusement over the thought that they hadn't even slept yet. Well, it wasn't as if a demon and half-demon needed anywhere near as much rest as a human.  
  
Trish stepped out of the bathroom, clad in only a small, white towel which was currently occupied with soaking excess water out of her long blonde hair. He watched her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. She was beautiful, in more ways than just one. It was almost funny, the realization that it was a demon which kept him in touch with his more human side.  
  
Dante knew he wouldn't have anywhere near as many reasons to smile, let alone laugh, not without her.  
  
Trish looked out from under the towel and caught his gaze, giving him a slow, warm smile. Her lips parted as if to speak, but before she could, the stillness of the room was interrupted by a startlingly loud crackle of a powerful electric surge.  
  
He immediately sat up as his gaze snapped to Alastor. The sword was going positively _nuts_, blue-white bolts arcing up and down the length of the blade. A split second later, he was on his feet, wrapping his hand around Alastor's handle. Dante moved into a crouch, reaching into his bag for a pair of briefs, staying alert as he pulled them on.  
  
Behind him, Trish hastily dropped her towel and pulled on an oversized jersey, and under that, a pair of panties, then grabbed Sparda. They both exchanged glances, and Trish stepped up on the bed, walking over it and hopping down on the other side, using the tip of her blade to part the curtains enough to see out.  
  
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Dante tightened his grip on Alastor. "Babe?" he asked softly.  
  
Trish canted her head, trying to see more out of the narrow opening in the curtain, then stiffened. "It's our little lawyer buddy," she growled, backing away from the window to step up on the bed again, keeping Sparda trained at the door.  
  
Dante scowled. Deep down, he wasn't all that surprised Silas showed up, not after they had messed up whatever little plan he had been putting into motion. Nevertheless, as Shara put it once, it was lawyers like him that gave demons a bad name. "Swell."  
  
"I assure you, Dante," Silas said through the closed door, his voice clipped and polite, "had I wished to fight, I would not have bothered to knock."  
  
"If you can hear us, then you don't need me to open that door," Dante snapped.  
  
"Ah, but if you do not open the door, people may notice my pets, and around other demons, I fear they aren't the most well-behaved..."  
  
"I hear black fur's in style for winter fashions this year," Trish sneered, referring to his so-called pets, the two demons in panther form which were always with the high-level demon.  
  
"How quaint," Silas retorted dryly.  
  
Dante jerked the door open, pointing Alastor at Silas. "Get in and make it quick."  
  
When Silas gave him a little polite smile, Dante remembered just how much he loathed the other demon. The only saving grace of ever having crossed his path was the knowledge that two humans had beat him at his own game. _That_ was a satisfying feeling.  
  
"Oh, I will not take up your time," Silas said as he stepped in, the panthers staying near him. "I merely wished to congratulate you over your recent victory, and we have things to discuss now, I fear."  
  
"Yeah. We figured out that little haunt was your doing. The girl, anyway," Dante replied.  
  
"Ah, Sarah, yes. Such a promising young woman." Silas _tsk_ed. "Shame she was hit by a truck this morning." His smile grew brighter. "Her dog survived, though."  
  
Dante couldn't help but twitch inwardly. He didn't have anything against dogs, but that particular little mutt led Trish straight into getting shot.  
  
"Yeah. Shame," Trish said dryly. "Cut to the chase."  
  
"Of course, of course." Silas was quiet for a moment. "You two did a fine job of clearing the lodge of the influence of her newfound power. The kitchen will require cleaning, naturally, but other than that, your job was a thundering success. With any luck, it will be the last time our paths need to cross."  
  
"Just for my own curiosity," Trish said, interrupting, "what the hell _was_ that stuff?"  
  
"Human entrails complete with the waste left over after digestion," Silas replied, sounding bored. "I had no idea you found our decorating habits so intriguing."  
  
"The point, demon," Dante snapped, glaring at Silas through narrowed eyes.  
  
"My point, yes. I had no idea that you would bother with such insignificant points of corruption, I really had not planned on your involvement," Silas said. "Her corruption could have been so much more drawn out, but alas." He mimicked a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "However, I seem to have been mistaken. No shame in that, it happens to the best of us."  
  
Dante could hear a rhythmic tapping as Trish drummed her nails against Sparda's hilt in irritation.  
  
"What this has shown me, though, is that you will continue to make nuisances of yourself in all demonic affairs," Silas continued, ignoring Trish. "Not that it makes much difference to me, how you handle my brethren. I am another matter entirely."  
  
"It's all part of the job," Dante retorted, his voice just dripping sarcasm. "No hard feelings."  
  
"In case you have forgotten, I _do_ have a contract with your..._friend_, Shara," Silas said. Dante growled slightly at the implied slur. "You really must exercise more care for all of our sakes."  
  
"What's her contract gotta do with us?" Trish demanded. "She won the fight. The point of it is, you're to leave her and hers the fuck alone."  
  
"Yes, unless she meddles in our affairs by her own volition once again," Silas said patiently. "My contract is with her. It has no influence whatsoever, direct or otherwise, on the two of you. If I so desired, I could assault you where you stand" -- Dante heard Trish snort softly in disdain at that -- "without any immediate legal repercussions. However, our contract is very clear, as you so graciously pointed out. We are to all leave her and her family alone, and she must avoid making trouble for our kind as well, unless looking for a fight." Silas paused to scowl slightly. "That woman has given me the mother of all headaches."  
  
Dante smirked inwardly. When he had wasted a demon posing as a librarian at a Massachusetts university library, he had not expected to encounter a student who was quite willing to lob a bottle of holy water she had just happened to be carrying in her bag. After the demon was dispatched, he found out that the girl wasn't just an average student majoring in teaching. She was a former Novice, having left the convent before taking her vows after deciding that life wasn't meant for her. But in her time there, she had become aware of the spiritual world, and the hazards it posed, and left to practice white magic.  
  
"And this has _what_ to do with us?" Dante demanded.  
  
"Why, my dear devil child," Silas said, and Dante gritted his teeth, "you are Miss Shara's friends. The farther you intrude into my business, the more I will have to respond. Without doubt, that wretched woman shall hear about it and temporarily nullify her contract to come to your aid however she can, and all that will do is pose as a pain in our collective ass."  
  
It gave Dante some measure of satisfaction, knowing how much trouble Shara caused him. They had sent a Phantom after her in retribution for her interference, and Silas had used that attack as a way to try and corrupt the white mage and onetime nun-to-be. No one had expected the girl to be smart enough to figure out a way to use it to her own advantage, right down to bringing in her older brother, who was also an attorney. Trish and Dante had trained her the best they could when they heard the result of the contract, and Shara went into a one-on-one battle to the death with a Phantom. It was a narrow victory, but a victory nevertheless, and the contract had been formed in such a way that she was untouchable from that day forward.  
  
"So," Trish drawled in a tone that asked Silas what the hell he had been drinking, "you want us to play nice in your sandbox to make things easier for _you_?"  
  
"You're every lick as stupid as Shara's said," Dante goaded.  
  
"I'll ignore such an obvious case of slander," Silas said tersely, "and continue with the point that you both claim to desire. So long as Shara's contract has been nullified, she is fair game, and my superiors would just love to get another shot at her. Thanks to the incompetence of that worthless Phantom, she has been viewed as a threat."  
  
Dante just smirked.  
  
"Therefore, not only will any engagements _we _have continue to be a drain on all of us, but you will have to worry for your friend's safety as well, and I cannot be totally certain who or what will be sent after her if she should choose to violate the terms of our contract," Silas said. "As far as I care, I am glad to leave her alone, She has been infinitely more trouble than she is worth, I am _still _dealing with the aftermath and paperwork of her case."  
  
"Then you'll just have to take greater care to keep your affairs concealed. I don't do demons any favors," Dante said.  
  
Silas shut his eyes briefly, an annoyed expression on his face. "Is it possible that either of you have _any_ realization that I wish to avoid trouble?"  
  
"Oh, I realize it just fine," Trish said sardonically. "If you wanted to avoid trouble, get the hell off the planet and stay gone. It's that simple. Really. Hm. 'Demons in Space'. Sounds like a Mel Brooks movie."  
  
"You are such a simple girl," he sneered. "Does it not occur to you that I am on this planet because I choose to be?"  
  
"Watch it!" Dante snarled. "That _girl _helped send your lord back to the Underworld."  
  
"Oh, I am well aware of the fact. I just don't care," Silas retorted.  
  
"If you wanted to avoid trouble, then why the fuck are you stirring up little hornet nests that make people feel inclined to hire us to clean up your shit?" Trish added.  
  
"The insufferable entity known as the Quota, of course," Silas said, his tone suggesting he was explaining things to a very slow-witted child. "You know, a job? A requirement for employment? So long as I do my job well, I have no need to return to the Underworld."  
  
Trish rolled her eyes, and Dante kept silent, glaring at him coldly.  
  
"I do not have to remind you both of the thoroughly unpleasant nature of that realm. Given the choice, I vastly prefer it up here. Fast food, air conditioning, street crime, it is such a lovely little world."  
  
"Is that all?" Dante growled.  
  
Silas stared at him, then sighed, giving his head a little shake. "I suppose it will have to be. I will sum up my position for both of you. You stay out of my business, I stay out of yours, we never have to cross paths again, and we all live in some degree of comfort. The son of Sparda, and Mundus' creation are opponents that are simply more than I care to trifle with, when it is so simple for me to complete my duties elsewhere."  
  
"Can you believe this guy?" Trish asked, her tone incredulous.  
  
"Whether you believe me or not makes no difference to me. I've said my piece, and I will leave you to enjoy the rewards of your completed mission." He tipped his hat. "Good day.   
  
Dante snorted. "Don't let the door nail you in the ass as you go."  
  
"Yeah, your pussies might get jealous," Trish sneered.  
  
The two panthers snarled at her, starting to turn, and Dante tensed up, holding Alastor at the ready.   
  
"Heel!" Silas snapped.  
  
Trish cheerfully gave the trio the bird as the panthers turned away, and Dante slammed the door behind him.  
  
"What a colossal ass," Trish said.  
  
"He's a demon, _and_ a lawyer. You expected anything more?" Dante asked, watching Alastor, waiting for the crackling to die down.  
  
"Whaddya think of what he was saying?" Trish asked.  
  
"I have no idea." He walked to the window, looking out, watching as the demon lawyer vanished into a portal of hellfire with the panthers. "I don't believe a word out of any demon's mouth. If they're telling the truth, I never benefit from it."  
  
"Well, it's not our problem, at any rate," Trish said.  
  
"We should consider the merits of what he told us, though," Dante pointed out. "The only thing I believe out of a demon's mouth is talk of contracts, and I take that with a grain of salt. Bastard's still got something on his mind about Shara." He set Alastor down and walked over to Trish.   
  
"If she stays outta our business, he's got no choice but to stay outta hers," Trish pointed out.  
  
"Babe, she's a friend," Dante said patiently. "I hope she does keep out of demon-related matters, but friends step in when push comes to shove. That's what friends do." He sat down on the bed beside her. "What're you thinking?"  
  
"I think he's afraid of getting saddled with more Shara-related paperwork," Trish replied, smirking at him.  
  
"Heh." Dante looked to the door, thinking. "I wonder what he's up to. We'll have to pay attention to anything going on in this area."  
  
"You mean, we won't stay outta his business?" Trish asked in mock astonishment.  
  
Dante smirked. "Not if he keeps this shit up. It sounded like he was just trying to corrupt that one girl. Seems like he succeeded, if she's dead now. That place didn't seem to have any other purpose. Nothing appeared outta place, well, anything natural. Everything we saw were recent changes."  
  
"No big underlying mystery maze of trouble," Trish agreed.  
  
Dante considered that. "I'm almost more comfortable with a giant mystery maze, rather than with a few small haunts. At least then, I know there's some sick shit going on."  
  
"Want to stick around here a few more days, then?"  
  
"I don't think we'll find anything, we'll have more luck getting leads on IRC than around this little podunk hole in the wall," he replied, standing and reaching for his pants. "I say we saddle up and get the hell outta Dodge."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Trish agreed.  
  
"At any rate, this is one case closed," Dante said, "and might I add, at a rather lovely little tune of seventy-five grand."  
  
"What a bargain for just a simple haunting," Trish said, smirking a bit as she kissed him.  
  


* * *

  


**-= THE END =-**  
  
_Thanks for coming along for the ride._

  
  



End file.
